WOMAN. The loveliest flowers have no seed. The rose is the flower
of love.

STRANGER. And the lily that of innocence. That can form seeds, but
only opens her white cup to kisses.

TEMPTER. And propagates her kind with buds, out of which fresh
lilies spring, like chaste Minerva who sprang fully armed from the
head of Zeus, and not from his royal loins. Oh yes, children, I've
understood much, but never this: what the beloved of my soul has to
do with. ... (He hesitates.)

STRANGER. Well, go on!

TEMPTER. What all-powerful love, that is the marriage of souls, has
to do with the propagation of the species!

STRANGER and WOMAN. Now he's come to the point!

TEMPTER. I've never been able to understand how a kiss, that's an
unborn word, a soundless speech, a quiet language of the soul, can
be exchanged, by means of a hallowed procedure, for a surgical
operation, that always ends in tears and the chattering of teeth.
I've never understood how that holy night, the first in which two
souls embrace each other in love, can end in the shedding of blood,
in quarrelling, hate, mutual contempt--and lint! (He holds his
mouth shut.)

STRANGER. Suppose the story of the fall were true? In pain shalt
thou bring forth children.